Try, Please Try For Me

Sleeping Beauty

The morning air is cool on Jaskier's skin. It's one of those peaceful spring mornings when frost still lingers on the grass, but the sun is warm enough to keep you from catching a chill. The kind of weather where he can get by with just a light wool coat instead of those horrible heavy things he has to wear in the winter that make him feel too stiff and bulky when layered on top of his usual ruffs and frills.

It's one of those rare mornings when Geralt has agreed to sleep in, his hunt from the previous day leaving him drained and in need of rest and recovery, even though he grumbled in protest when Jaskier informed him of such. But for all his grunting and grumbling, Jaskier has learned that the witcher secretly loves sleep, he just acts grumpy about it because that's how he is. Geralt is a stubborn bastard and he'll deny his need for these things until his dying breath, but Jaskier is slowly working on him, carefully chipping away his determination not to take care of himself piece by piece and making use of lingering morning kisses that he knows Geralt loves, and copious amounts of puppy dog eyes to convince him of things like sleeping a little longer.

And so Jaskier is making use of this time to forage near their campsite for mushrooms and wild carrots so that they'll have a little extra variety in food for the next few days.

He crouches over a dead log and scrapes the final mushroom free, adding it to the growing cluster to his basket. He's around 85% sure it is, in fact, the edible variety of blue cap and not the lesser known extremely deadly kind. If he's right, then they'll have a bountiful soup pot tonight, if he's wrong, well, Geralt will probably sniff it out within seconds of him returning to camp.

He's just about to go look for another log or mossy tree to forage when his foot catches on something-- or rather, it's tied to the ground by flowering vines that have wrapped around his boot.

"You know," he says, yanking his foot free and trying not to flinch at the crisp snapping sound of the tearing vines. It sounds almost like the snapping of bones. "That was a far more effective intimidation tactic the first time."

There's no response, of course. There never is. The fae are never so simple as to plainly state their intention.

"I have seen more creative attempts for sure," Jaskier continues. "Everyone does the vines." He snaps his fingers and wills a cluster of buttercups to sprout at the base of the nearest tree, growing and flowering, wrapping themselves around the trunk like snakes. "See, even I can do that."

He doesn't mention learning that trick in particular took many hours of frustration, but the faerie doesn't need to know that.

At first the fae were subtle. Since his return from Faerie, Jaskier has been paranoid to say the least. He knew he was being watched, he had tricked them, somehow managed to wriggle his way out of servitude to the seelie queen and lied to everyone-- and if there's two things that the fae despise, it's those who don't repay their debts and liars.

Coming back to the mortal realm, Jaskier was monitored closely. He never saw the creatures that the queen sent after him, but he was no fool. He knew they were always there, watching, waiting, behind every tree, hidden in every stream.

Being watched was scary, but at the time, that fear paled in comparison to the sheer hysteria of having Geralt back. So he put that fear to the back of his mind to deal with it later. He had more pressing things on his mind anyway. And soon he was whisked away to a blissful winter at Kaer Morhen, far away from all his worries and a perfect excuse to brush them under the rug.

Now returning again, it appears the fae have grown impatient and thus become more bold.

Being stalked by the fae is terrifying at times and constantly unnerving, but that's a small price to pay, in Jaskier's opinion, for his and Geralt's freedom.